Let's take a stroll

From day one,
I've wanted to write a poem that you could use as a map to my love...
One so explicit it could bring to light all the hidden corners of my bruised heart
just so you could see all the monsters concealed in the dark
waiting for me to fall asleep alone,
and maybe it could be filled with such fierce metaphors
that they could rip tears off your eyes,
fuel your bravery,
and make you want to be the one to save me
from the night I keep chasing.
But I never really tried,
just so I could never fail.
Just so the lines I draw
don't ever point you in the wrong direction
and you end up at the finish line for using shortcuts
before we can enjoy the struggle it is to walk the right path for the right reasons,
and miss the delight in advancing with the seasons
in such slow motion it's hard to notice the changes,
in a path where nothing is ever left to chance and the lane for spontaneity has been buried by certainties.
So take a stroll with me and lets get lost
in all the complexities we so often curse upon when it comes to matters of the heart,
take a stroll with me and lets get lost
before we find ourselves contemplating simplicity with aversion,
refusing the ending we so effortlessly attained.


 C.D.  (for my husband, my love, my soulmate)

This is not a poem, it's a confession

I think of you and think of funny conversations in cozy chinese restaurants on chilly nights,
late night walks to home in a playful pace surrounded by city lights
and long telephone conversations that lack awkward silences...
We were always better friends on the phone
maybe because I've always needed a safe distance in order to love properly
or maybe because telephone lines make everyone less uncomfortable
and they echo the other ones laughter and words directly into your ears
making sure you don't miss a thing
I have an awful hearing
I say what more times than yes in any conversation
and that would be alright if when I saw you I greeted you saying “ yes,
I'm here, I'm listening, I'll always be here and I'll always listen”
Instead I get lost in whats with no meaning or depth
“What have you been up to?”
“What have you been doing?”
“What do you think about chinese for this weekend?”
I think of you and think of late night visits on rainy days
when we'd fight the winter's grip over our femininity with chocolate bars,
and mugs of coffee in last minute meetings at starbucks...
Those memories bring me shame
they make me wish that every tear you cried after they died
could be one phone call I made to ask you all kinds of unimportant questions
and were strong enough to hear all the answers, no matter how sad
making sure I didn't miss a thing
I wish I was a better friend
the kind that you think about calling when your shoulders feel heavy
out of the certainty that you have mines to cry on
the kind that would call you half way across the world
and would avoid saying “I'm sorry for your loss”
but instead would say “ Life fucking sucks sometimes
and I know you've heard that before and there's nothing to do about it
but I'm here for you if wanna curse at it”
I'm always thinking of you
and all that you've been through
Always wishing that life has not yet taught you how to contain your laughter
Always hoping I can still rescue whatever pieces of us we left behind,
wondering if it's too late to apologize or too early for another try
I'm always thinking of you
and all that you've been through
I'm always planning on picking up the phone and saying
“Yes honey, I'm here, I'll always be”
But I never do.

                       C.D.  (To my friend, Carla Alexandra. I am so very sorry.)

Receios

Tenho medo do papel...

Medo que pela ponta da minha caneta
ele puxe respostas que não me atrevi a procurar,
expondo toda a verdade que procrastino decifrar
e seja tudo tão claro que não reste nada a ponderar.

Tenho medo que o papel
me reduza à simplicidade da qual eu fujo
e o tempo passe por mim enquanto enferrujo...

Tenho ainda mais medo
que o papel faça perguntas
e eu não tenha as respostas.


                             C.D.